


What Happens In The Silence

by violent_ends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), F/M, First Time, Light Angst, POV Lucifer, Self-Reflection, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: A summer thunderstorm is raging in the sky when Lucifer undresses Chloe for the first time, and the sound reminds him of another storm - back when Father wasstillmeteorologically inclined.





	What Happens In The Silence

The sky shakes to the sound of a summer thunderstorm when Lucifer undresses Chloe for the first time.

He always assumed it would happen in his penthouse, but instead, they are in her home; feet padding softly up the stairs not to wake the child, Chloe’s hand tugging as she leads the way to her bedroom in silence. They don’t need to be quiet, not really, as the house almost rattles under the force of the elements; yet, for some reason, they are.

He always assumed they would be loud – he always assumed many things, and mostly, he’s been wrong.

The lamp on the nightstand flickers as he kisses her; she gasps, and he’s not sure whether it’s from his lips or from the storm. Even back then there had been thunder, although after that, Father decided to stop showing His emotions so blatantly – _I can assure you, He’s in no way meteorologically inclined_ – except for a very famous flood a while later.

The column of her neck quivers as he kisses his way down, like the pillars of the Silver City under His wrath. Lucifer removes her clothes as he goes, freeing buttons from their holes like rebel angels from the vice of His tiranny – though they complain less before bowing to his command, Chloe’s white shirt parting like a bank of clouds to reveal the skin of her breasts and stomach.

_Kneel, Samael. Kneel and I will forgive you._

_No._

Chloe doesn’t ask him to, and yet, for her, he does: the floor creaks under his weight and her fingers card through his hair in a prayer – _Please, my angel, don’t upset Him so_; but no, it’s not that prayer, because this time Lucifer will _listen_.

He discards the rest and lifts her naked leg to kiss the arch of her foot and her calf; then lowers it back to the ground and presses his lips to the inside of her knee, making her squirm and shudder – a sensation more than a sound, because it’s still too loud outside and even here, but he can feel her pulse and her blood rushing under his mouth.

She whispers his name as he trails upwards, along the trembling inside of her thigh; a different name, but his just the same, and for the first time in a while he feels like it means something again, feels like he’s lighting up her skin under his touch.

_Today I made the sky, son, and you shall be its lightbringer._

When he surges up and kisses her between her legs, she lets out an incredulous whimper that quickly turns into a long, contented sigh. She tightens her hold on his hair but releases it in the next instant, as if scared of demanding too much – he remembers fingers and nails much harsher than hers, a strong archangel hand dragging him by the back of his head all the way to the edge of the precipice, and wishes she would grip harder, thinks _To you, I won’t rebel_.

She opens for him like the pearly gates of Heaven, but he knows this paradise won’t turn bitter in his mouth; his knees scrape against the hardwood and he welcomes the way they start to hurt, the faintest indication of the human she makes of him: fragile but defiant, killable but clinging to life more than ever before.

_Today I made humanity, son, and you shall be their morning star._

Chloe moans softly but the sound gets swallowed by the booming war that’s being fought outside the window (a war with a kinder ending than his, with peace and sunlight in a pot at the end of the rainbow); and so he scratches at her hips in supplication, begging for the gift of being able to hear it – begging as he never would have to Him.

_Apologize, Samael. Apologize and I will show mercy._

_No._

He pushes deeper into her, guiding her closer, losing himself in the taste and in the sound of the rain – the same that lashed at his face to wash away blood and tears of anger, droplets catching in his eyelashes when he looked up at the sky one last time. He doesn’t mean to but he has to muffle a dry sob against her when it comes out, and she notices: her hands cradle his face and pull him up to her lips, forgiving.

Chloe undresses him in turn and makes him lie down on the bed, then climbs up after him. She kisses down his neck and chest and stomach, then lower; he arches up into it, his fingers gripping the sheets, and closes his eyes as if to fall, because he will – no, he already did. Hard. For _her_.

The descent is slower and sweeter this time, an embrace more than a push, but he still searches for one of her hands frantically, her palms planted on either side of his hips, to squeeze it and ask her not to let go. Lightning strikes somewhere in the city and drops a spark in her hair, and he can’t breathe as he looks at her, her beauty sucking the air out of his lungs like Michael's sword slashing across his chest.

_Yield, Samael. Yield and I won’t strike harder._

_No._

Chloe’s mouth travels up his body again until they are aligned, fingers intertwined on either side of Lucifer’s head, and for a moment, all they do is stare. Without saying a word (they are quiet, so quiet, like mourners trying not to wake the dead from their graves), she shifts her hips down and welcomes him inside, their mouths open against each other without kissing, almost in shock at the fact that they are here.

He clutches at her back when she starts to move, speechless and awed into submission, as he clutched at the ashes of Hell under his hands and knees – but she won’t crumble in the space between his fingers, and she’s warmer, slicker, softer. She pulls him in and under like the bowels of the Underworld and once again he'll be reborn when he comes out, his soul transformed, but for the better.

The wind outside howls like hungry demons slithering out of the depths of the Earth and angered fallen angels turning on him as they blame him for their disgrace, so he kisses her to block it out, her moan reverberating through him when he rocks up and into her gently, almost shyly, like a soft knock on the door at night in the hope not to disturb her.

Chloe sits up and he follows eagerly like the subject that he is, that he _was_, bowing his head in obedience to His every wish and order as he does now, with her, because a prince he is no more (not of lies, not of darkness) – not here, not inside her, where he feels more mortal than he's ever felt before. They breathe each other in, locked together like two puzzle pieces, and only now he dares to set the pace, holding her up by her hair and the small of her back.

He pulls her backwards so she can rest against his bent legs as he kisses her breasts, her head falling back to expose her neck to him, an invitation he can’t resist for long: soon they are joined again and he can feel life coursing like water in her veins under the tip of his tongue, a river he dives in with no intention to swim to the surface again, fresh and purifying like the crystal-clear streams of the Garden.

_Today I made Eden, son, and you shall never go there._

But this fruit is for him to take, so he does: he bites into it and flips Chloe on her back, emboldened, exhilarated by the taste. She keeps him close and pants softly in his ear, a sound that holds more grace and harmony than the harps of the heavenly host, brushing and tickling the skin of his cheek like feathers of a careless angel passing him by. Like the wings of his siblings, racing and bumping into each other in their haste to win.

The very last thunder of the storm finds them trembling in each other’s arms in the aftershocks, much like the walls of the house as they recover from the onslaught of the angry sky. The light flickers again but dies this time, leaving them in the dark, yet Chloe’s fingers are sure and unfaltering as they brush Lucifer’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. There is silence outside, finally, and only now it seems like they are allowed to speak.

_Stay with me, Lucifer. Stay with me forever._

_Yes._


End file.
